Amends To My Muse

Amends To My Muse

Oh, Muse
Forgive my prolonged evasion
We were companions once
You and I
Invariably sharing
Observations
Elucidations
And, when I freely pondered
You answered, eloquently
This, our repartee
You, and me

And then
I began to avoid our encounters
Keeping only breviloquent discourse
Then, subtle nods in your direction
Until, finally, nothing at all
Our concord only a distant memory

It was not by design, you see
But for the sake of brevity
My attention split into fragments
Of paternity and every responsibility
An exhausting helotry
Impalpable perspiration 
Dampening the wick
That once lit my imagination
And so
I resigned myself
To that
Barren
Paralyzing 
Mindscape

And yet
Have I not seen you?
There, in the periphery?
Patiently waiting for me
To fortuitously notice
To restore our harmony
And welcome you back
With familiar embrace?

Yes, I've heard 
Your voice in the morning birdsong
In the words of my son, reciting stories
And the patter of raindrops on fresh leaves of green

I have seen you
Dancing with my daughter's loose tooth
Unfurling the blossoms, awash in color
And in the soft shine of silver moonlight

I've felt your presence
On the soft, light-speckled footpaths in the forest
In the panorama of hallowed Civil War battlefields
And in the warm breath of my sleeping children

There you have dwelled
In my simple joys
There you have dwelled
In the fissures of my hardships
Bursting out of my mind
And into the din...
The declarations of the sufferers
The bluster of political hysteria
The trumped up election
The Black Lives
Toppled bronze statues
And bleeding schools

In connubial bickering
Preschooler stand-offs
Restless nights
Tight clothes
Gray whiskers
And backaches
Delirium
Doubts
The earnest things
The petty things
You were there
In the distractions
But more so, in between them...

There, you have dwelled
In the quiet places
Between truth and belief
Amid the atoms
And the ticks of second hands
Ready to materialize
From space and time
If only I beckoned

Oh, Muse
I call to you now
Hoping you attend to me
For who will tell my story?
Who will be my confidant?
Celebrate my victories?
Bemoan my travails?
And study the times?
Who will illuminate
Fading memories?
My friend...
You are my voice
My vision
Please, come and
Dwell within
So that we may speak 
Once again

JMC
5/22/18
(c) 2018

You Are My Son, Shine!

You Are My Son, Shine!

You are my son, shine!
And let the whole world
See what we so often see
The loving smile of
Our precious baby boy
A contagious radiance
That fills every corner
Brightening the hearts bearing
Witness to your light laughter
And primordial tongues

You are my son, climb
The tallest mountain
Just as you scale seemingly
Insurmountable staircases
With confidence and persistence
You will achieve great things!
And if you should stumble
We will be there, behind you
To hold you, just as we did
The night you were born

You are my son, time
Will certainly pass by
And someday you will grow
Stronger than your Daddy
Sillier than your Mommy
A staunch sibling to your sister
But, for now you are One
And that is all you need to be
Clinging tightly to my legs, or
Snuggling in your mother’s arms

You are my son, find
Everything that brings you joy
Jump and dance
When the music plays
Sing and shout
When you greet the day
Always be yourself
Without reservation
Without doubt
You are wonderfully made

You are my son, divine!
For JAH has been generous
Establishing your place
In this family of mine
You invite us to be happy
You teach us to be simple
You remind us to be kind
We give thanks for you, Isaiah
Amid the wintry months
You are our warm sunshine!

JMC
1/8/16
(c) 2016

Crown The Day

Crown The Day

If you fail to raise your eyes
From the pedestrian things
Then you will surely miss it
That brief but glorious moment of time
After the sting of the afternoon heat subsides
And the glow of pinks and oranges 
Peek above cerulean clouds

The most jaded soul must still wonder
On the origin of this palette
Searching the sky for a signature
Finding grace within that recognition
Of impressionist swirls of experiences
Painted on his own consciousness
In countless subtle shades

Friend, you must bear witness
To the crowning of the day
A ceremonious confirmation of life
When doleful eyes shine vividly
And pensive hearts rejoice again
Within this daily miracle, creation sings
Extolling Him that rides upon the heavens

And as eventide rolls in
You will understand the revelation
Beneath the beacon of the evening star
In the moonlight that kisses the earth
In the lullaby of chirping crickets
Blowing through the cool night air
Relieving the day’s vexation

Remember to raise your eyes tomorrow
And witness the crowning of the day

JMC
7/24/15
(c) 2015

Play On (In The Key Of G)

Play On (In The Key Of G)

She stands there with a gleam in her eyes
The silver metal of the harmonica
Folded in her tiny hands
And she smiles…
The type of smile that
Pulls and stretches across her face
The type of smile that probably hurts
But is unavoidable

“Daddy!”
She laughs in excitement
Then she brings the instrument to her lips
And joyfully blows 
A cascade of notes that pour into the air
Sounding like a mad organ player
Or an accordion flopping down the stairway

Her legs follow suit
Marching in wild, erratic steps
Off balance, and nearly toppling over
But she’s clinging to the harmonica
With all her might
And drawing notes through the reeds
With a ferocity 
Reserved for one possessed...

After all, she was spellbound 
Pulled in, as soon as she heard it
How could she not be?
When I was enchanted the same way
Back then, when I was a child...

She played on and on…
As a bubbling stream of
Both shrill and warm notes
Began reverberating between 
The confines of the moment
And deep echoes of the past
And instead of my kitchen
I was suddenly back in his...

He took two harmonicas down
From the top of the harvest-gold fridge
One for me, one for him
I probably wore the same face as my daughter
Eyes gleaming, a beaming grin
The hard plastic case of the Marine Band
Was placed into my hands and 
When I opened it, I could see
Matthias Hohner peering up from 
My reflection in the shiny cover plate

My grandfather took his and
Cupping his large hands around the harp
Spun out a medley of
Italian folksongs and 
Stephen Foster compositions
Giving me permission to join in 
Signaling me to blow or draw a note
With his pointed finger
While we played the
Chords and melodies of
“Oh! Susanna” and 
“Old Folks At Home”

We would play on and on
As my Grandma watched, smiling
We would play on and on
As I showed off for my parents
We would play on and on
As my brothers tugged my legs for their turn...
We would play on and on
For guests, relatives, celebrations
He would play
And I would play

I would play on and on
Becoming more nimble at
Blowing riffs beneath melodies
Breathing and blocking, while
Tasting the wooden comb
Swollen from salivating, and
Playing until the edges of my mouth were raw
I would play on and on
Yet never quite master the way
He would play a dancing tarantella 
Deftly shifting scales on his chromatic
I would play on and on...
Even after he passed on...

I had to play on without him...
I mourned him through the moody
Wistful rhythm of the Blues 
Bending my notes to infuse
Williamson, Walter
Wells, and Cotton
And when I had forgotten
How to live in the positive
I found my way back
From Talking Blues, like
Lee Jaffe on a Marley track
Resting my roots in reggae
Finding my voice like Dylan
Instilling pieces of 
Composed memories and
Explored aspirations
Into my own identity
I was finally ready to
Play the same song
I had learned long ago
But in a new style
It had been a while
So, I played on...

She played on and on
Parting the curtains of time
Pulling me back in like a note
Squeezed through the reed plate
“Daddy!... ah you ok?”
I forgot to play...
And so I did

Who knew that 
I would find him again
In my dear daughter
Just shy of two
Copying my every move
Vigorously playing 
The harmonica I gave her
Slapping the spit out
Against her leg
Cupping her hands
Waving her fingers
Prancing behind me
From room to room
Our own parade
For Mama and brother

Turning around
I stop to kneel down
And looking into her eyes
I see him
As we play a medley of
“The ABC’s” and 
“Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star”
Us three...
Together, in the key of G

Our doors to each other
Are unlocked by keys
Played on these
Marine Bands and Blues Harps
Our Gemini hearts
Born on Special 20’s
Together, we will play on and on...

JMC
5/20/15
(c) 2015

Written as a tribute to my daughter and my grandpa, both having birthdays on either side of mine:
May 21st - My grandfather, the late Edmond Gioielli
May 22nd - My birthday
May 23rd - My daughter, Makeda

I Am That Tree

I Am That Tree

How fortunate of me
To be that tree
Planted by the water
My branches heavy with
The fruits of my love
My son, my daughter

The countenance of my wife
Shines upon my life
Like the warm sun 
And her affection 
Will never cease, like
The morning dew on my leaves

You see, I grew from a seed
Planted and received
In arable soil
A royal garden where
I rose in the shade
Of ones greater than I

My roots reach down
To the riverside
Where Jehovah abides
In the constant waters
The birds nest in my crown
I’m surrounded in song

I am tall and splendid
But without the roots
I would bear no fruits
Without the stream
My leaves would cease
From spreading green...

I will never be cut down
I shall not rot or whither
Even in the year of drought
I have no doubt
That I am that tree
Planted by rivers of water...

JMC
5/22/15
(c) 2015

A Great Love

A Great Love

Behold, a great love
Exists between this mother
And her dear children
There is no power on earth
Able to separate them

Her presence alone
Subdues this uncertain life
With a constant love
Her daughter dances with her
Her son seeks her warm embrace

She'll love them beyond
The ends of eternity
This is their mother
Who once held them in her womb
Who holds them now in her arms

They’ll never outgrow
The size of her beating heart
They’ll never outgrow
The home she has made upon
The pillars of family

JMC
5/10/15
(c) 2015

Livicated to my wife, my Empress, and mother of my beautiful children. Her love is a Great Love! Written in honor of her motherhood and the motherhood of my mother, mother-in-law, and all of the mothers I know. Their love is a Great Love! 

Melodies Pure & True

It was about two months ago, a few weeks before our son would be born, when my wife and I were driving in the car with our daughter who was 19 months old at the time. During that short ride she did something that caused us to be both amazed and overjoyed, and ever since then this miraculous moment has now become an everyday occurrence (almost an “all-day” occurrence). Though it all started on that day when we first witnessed a simple miracle of word, sound, and power.

It starts and ends with music. Music is a big part of our lives and so we find occasion to play it almost anywhere and anytime, especially on our car rides. On that particular day we were playing an album that I had frequently put on while putting my daughter to bed. As we were listening, we suddenly heard another texture to the music, something like another voice adding to the mix. My wife and I looked back, and to our great surprise, saw our daughter singing and harmonizing with this one beautiful melody. Mind you, this was no simple nursery rhyme either. It was a rich piece of music with many elements, layers, and vocal harmonies. Yet, here was our daughter singing the words with perfect annunciation, perfect tone and in perfect time! She had been using a variety of words and speaking her own brand of melodic gibberish for some time, but this was very different… she was actually singing!

What made this moment even more special was the fact that this was such a wonderful tune to hear our daughter sing. It was a song about love. Love for a child, love of family, love for the Most High God, and one filled with gratitude.  While we listened, a verse came forth from her lips in perfect clarity. “Oh how I love you, oh yes I love you! My precious baby, you mean so much to me!” She sang loudly with a smile of satisfaction. Then as the album continued, other songs and phrases emerged like, “I love you baby, so overwhelmed by your beauty… It’s an honor to feed to you, a privilege to take care of you, a joy to hold you, and a blessing to have you… Each and every day, I do find time to pray, thanking God the Father for you my precious daughter!...”

The songs came from an album sung by Marge Blackman along with her family members and friends. She comes from a family of musicians from Trinidad & Tobago who sing in a style called Jamoo, or JAH Music. If you’ve never heard of it before then it is because it belongs to a unique niche in world music and I am fortunate enough to have a little collection of these hard-to-find albums.  Jamoo could be described as a rootsy blend of calypso, soca, reggae and Caribbean folk with spiritual and uplifting messages. We used to play this album frequently even before our daughter was born. In fact, it is actually titled “Songs for the Womb and Beyond” and I owned it long before I was a married man, or had even thought of becoming a Dad, just because I loved the music and the style. 

Playing the album on that day opened up a musical floodgate. Songs spill from our daughter’s mouth almost as quickly as she hears them with her ears. It is simply amazing to learn how intently she’s been listening to the music and what she is picking up from it. She is grasping language so quickly and putting words together with ideas and abstract thoughts. Although she doesn't know exactly what a song may be saying, she hangs on important words and their associations, repeating phrases and feeling the general vibes of the whole tune, dancing and soaking it all in. Witnessing this has proven two things to me. First, that one cannot underestimate the abilities and the awareness of a young child, and second, one cannot underestimate the power that music has on people, even very young people. It makes me wonder what would happen if I was playing music with less substance, or lyrics with foul and crude language. What type of impact would it have on my little daughter, and now my newborn son? How could I not be ashamed if they repeated demeaning and dirty lyrics, or mimicked some inappropriate pantomime? Unfortunately, I’m not sure if every parent thinks this through until it happens. 

Toward the beginning of this month of February my family (along with many millions more in the world, I'm sure) celebrated what would have been the 70th Birthday of Bob Marley, the man who carried positive and life-giving music all across the world. Every time I reflect on that car ride, and the days since, a verse from one of Bob’s most famous songs comes to mind. “…Three little birds upon my doorstep, singin’ sweet songs of melodies pure and true, sayin’ this is my message to you-ou-ou…” I love that line. Melodies pure and true… yes, that is what sustains me. Everyone has their own taste in music and whatever else that grabs them and brings them to life. However in my own universe, and in the world I’ve created for my family, we surround ourselves with music that builds us up and fills us up with love and strength, with purpose and confidence. Music created from positive vibrations. Roots reggae, or sounds of polyrhythms and languages from all over the African continent, Jamoo, soul, and world music that give thanks and praise or speaks truth no matter what nation it originates from. This is the music of our lives and the beat that we march to. I feel so satisfied and happy to see the impact it already has on our young daughter, singing these sweet songs. And I give thanks for the melodies pure and true, because music is life. In the words of Mr. Robert Nesta Marley, play I some music!...

JAHsh

And Yeshua said unto them, “Yea, have ye never read, ‘Out of the mouth of babes and sucklings Thou hast perfected praise’?” - Matthew 21:16

Midwinter Reverence

Midwinter Reverence

Fresh snow softly falls
Dressing tree limbs in white garb
Until the wind stirs
For who else would dare disturb
Such a divine handiwork

Frosted light enters
And blankets a sleeping child
Beyond the window
Where even the arctic chill
Melts against a baby's breath

JMC 
1/27/15
(c) 2015

I Wonder

I Wonder

Upon my shoulder 
You rest so gently
And I wonder
Who will you be? 
Will you remember?
The way you clung
To me so tenderly
Will you remember?
These moments
With Daddy

We dance to lullabies 
Sung in every tongue
And I wonder
Who will you become?
Will you remember?
The stories I told
The dreams I spun
Will you remember?
These nights
With Daddy

I place my hands on
Your mother's belly
And I wonder
Who will you be?
Will I remember?
Waiting for you
My sweet baby
What will you look like?
I can't wait to see
With Mommy
Your sister
And me...

JMC 
1/8/15
(c) 2015

He Is With Us

He Is With Us

Long and weary was the road
But the sign was in the sky
As prophecy had foretold
The sound of an infant's cry
Divine marvels unfold
Among us He does dwell

Wise ones traveled far to see
This baby who was just born
Witnessing divinity
Manifested in earthly form
Saving humanity
So man would know thyself

Throughout the ages they still tell
Of the promise JAH upheld
His name is Immanuel
A true love never withheld
Divine marvels unfold
Among us He does dwell
Saving humanity
So man would know thyself

JMC 
12/25/14
(c) 2014

Say It

Say It

If you do not say it, who will?
Will you remain silent, until
It is too late to matter
Or too long forgotten
You have the power to fulfill
And stop them

If you do not speak, who shall?
Who will disperse and dispel
The ignorance and
The blindness
It must be you, to tell
An utterance

If you never break the silence
How will they receive guidance?
Directions to show
The right way
You possess the license
To inveigh

Don’t lock your voice within
For a life manifests when
The Word spins
Itself into flesh
Let it show, just begin
To profess

JMC 
12/5/14
(c) 2014

Babylon Prism

Babylon Prism

Babylon, back weh!
With your ism, schism...
Refracting JAH Light
Through your dutty prism
While JAH People unite
You create your division
But you can’t check the light
That we shine from within

You’ve taken our spirituality
And turned it into religion
Replacing our roots and culture
With your own evangelism
Creating doctrines and dogmas
That have fueled fanaticism
But the truth is too big
To fit in your catechism

You’ve distorted our diversity
And you’ve created racialism
Drawn beguiling borderlines
To impose your tribalism
Disposed age-old traditions
For your cold intellectualism
If it doesn’t fit your world
Then you call it “barbarism”

Babylon, back weh!
With your ism, schism...
Refracting JAH Light
Through your dutty prism
While JAH People unite
You create your division
But you can’t check the light
That we shine from within

JAH Ancient Monarchy...
You dubbed it as despotism
Then took Selassie’s Throne
In the name of communism
Today, leaders of the world
Play a game of egotism
We vote in your elections
But we have no real decision

You’ve denied us of simplicity
For your new materialism
Turning women into placards
To sell us your sexism
The earth has been stripped
For your mercantilism
You’ve prostituted our dignity
For your commercialism

Babylon, back weh!
With your ism, schism...
Refracting JAH Light
Through your dutty prism
While JAH People unite
You create your division
But you can’t check the light
That we shine from within

Babylon, back weh!
With your ism, schism...
We burn out all illusions!
We’re free from your prison!

JMC 
11/30/14
(c) 2014

I Dare Not Be Ungrateful

It has been some lean times. As a nation, most of us are in the same boat economically: unemployment, underemployment, rising costs of living, etc. It is no great wonder then, that the stress of uncertainty sometimes weighs on me and my own family. Being the parents of an 18 month-old daughter while expecting our second baby in January, we know that our livelihood is about more than just being comfortable, but about providing a happy and safe home for our children. Lately it seems harder to manage and stay afloat. Our income is actually less than it was when we were first married due to circumstances and of course a pregnancy that limits job opportunities. At times we worry about paying bills on time, accumulating debt, fixing things in our home, and saving for emergencies and for our future. We know that we just can’t afford certain things, especially during the holiday season, when people are bombarded with advertisements to buy everything and anything. It can be quite taxing on the soul, and the body. It can cause a disturbance in the home and restlessness in our sleep. At least, that is one way to think. 

Notwithstanding all of the very real worries that we have, as a family we have so much to be thankful for! First, we have each other. My wife and I vowed to walk side-by-side though the hills and valleys on life’s road. It is comforting to have this companionship. Some families have a hard time enduring the stress and people often forget their commitment to one another. We have our health, and our unborn child is growing just fine! Many people struggle with chronic illnesses, or have children with developmental problems, and they do not have the means to treat them. We even have great health benefits and insurance due to my job. We have a roof over our heads! In fact, we own it, so we have home equity! We have food on our table! Even when we can’t necessarily afford to buy it ourselves, we have family that helps provide for us! There are hundreds of families in my community who have to depend on food shelters or churches just to have meals for the week. We have employment! Even though one of us is underemployed, we still are earning an income that more or less sustains us. We live in a safe community, where there is no crime and where we don’t have to worry (within reason) about robbery or gunfire! We have luxuries! We have running water, electricity, (which most people would say are necessities), we have cable television, we have possessions!

For all of these things, I give thanks. When I compare all of the blessings that we have to the worries and problems that we carry, it is almost embarrassing. My Uncle’s family lost their entire home in a fire last year. I have a close bredren (Rastafari brother and friend) who has been struggling with unemployment for several years now. I have family members and friends who are battling disease and health conditions. I have friends who live in neighborhoods and in cities where there is severe distress and where crime affects their livelihoods. I have students who are homeless, who are struggling with drug abuse and absence in their families. Even if I had all of these burdens, which would be hard to imagine, I have the air to breathe, water to drink... I have life! During these “tough times” (it seems funny to say now), I remember to wake up in the morning and give thanks to JAH for not being the worst. I give thanks for all of the little things that we have. When I lay my daughter down to sleep, I pray with her and give thanks even though she does not yet understand (although she does say “Amen”), because it is important that we acknowledge our blessings and good fortune. I dare not be ungrateful to JAH, Yahweh, Jehovah, Rastafari... because that would be an affront to all of the blessings that my family has received from HIM. 

Thanksgiving... yes, I know as a student of history that the first Thanksgiving is not necessarily the glorious moment that we celebrate in American mythos. I will not get into the socio-historical controversy here, because that is not my current message. I will however celebrate this day by truly giving thanks on a personal level. I will celebrate it as a day where I can join my family and extended family, break bread, and honor the Most High with a joyful heart! I truly believe that every day should be “Thanksgiving” (sans the overeating), but I am thankful for the tradition that puts a pause in our busy lives and a reality check to our woes and instead reminds us that life is precious, life is good, and we need to celebrate it! I give thanks to JAH Rastafari, to Iyesos Kristos, to Selassie I, for all of the elders and ancestors who guided the human spirit. I give thanks for all that I have and I dare not be ungrateful! Selah!

Give Thanks,
JAHsh

Post-Racial Rhapsody

I have a story for you, one that you may be familiar with. Most Americans had high praise for the 2009 feel-good movie “The Blind Side” based on the true story of an African-American football player named Michael Oher. In case you haven’t seen it, Oher, aka “Big Mike” starts off as a homeless and distressed teenage boy who is a product of the housing projects, broken family, and then foster homes that he has emerged from.  He is a large young man, hence “Big Mike”, but also a quiet person despite all the trauma of his youth. Eventually, he is discovered for being favorably-sized by a private school’s football team and because of his circumstances Michael is adopted by Sandra Bullock’s character (Leigh Anne Tuohy) and her family. The rest is a great story about overcoming the odds and being included on a team and in a family that would otherwise be alien to him. It is also true as far as I know, since Michael Oher is a real person who is now an NFL offensive left tackle and he has told his own story in an autobiography. Who can show contempt for this true story of showing love and compassion to a kid that many would have just forsaken? Fortunately it all worked out for “Big Mike” and he came across some really cool people that became his adoptive family. Yet, the movie at least, avoided some of the real ugliness that can come from confronting prejudices and blatant racism in society. Perhaps it’s just because it was a PG-13 movie, or perhaps the real ugly possibilities were avoided.

Now, let’s take this story and play with it a bit. What if it didn’t take place in Memphis, Tennessee, but instead, Ferguson Missouri? What if the physically imposing black teenager was not Michael Oher, but instead, Michael Brown? What if “Big Mike” Oher, or Brown, or whatever, was not a gentle giant, but an angry youth with a bad attitude and a propensity for petty theft (like many teenagers)? What if instead of wandering the streets and being found by Sandra Bullock, Michael instead is confronted by a police officer? What if “Big Mike” had a bad day and that bad day turned into bad fortune when an officer probably acting more out of fear than civic responsibility, shot him multiple times? How does that sound for a feel-good movie of the year? Not too good I imagine. The kind rather, that makes you feel rather uncomfortable and disgusted. It’s not the sugary stereotypical, “white savior meets magical negro” one that more people in mainstream America would like to watch. (In saying this, I mean no disrespect toward Mr. Oher or the Tuohy family.) Why do I bring up this alternative story? Because this story is not only in the headlines every minute of the day, but it is also rooted in the unfortunate reality for many black teenagers in America. 

Of course, people have so many things to say about this issue and the Michael Brown case in particular. It is sure to inspire some very confrontational Thanksgiving dinners. In fact, the topic probably cannot be avoided unless it is immediately classified as “too hot for TG” (TG, Thanksgiving… yes, I made it up). One only needs to read statuses on social media or read comments following online news articles to be immersed in a tide of controversy. Some of these comments fall along the lines of “he deserved it”, “he acted like a thug, troublemaker, punk”, “don’t talk back to, or confront cops”, “he was a thief”, and now lately I’ve seen speculations that his parents are affiliated with the Bloods gang. Even if all of the above was true, even if Michael Brown does not deserve the impromptu canonization that he has seemed to receive by many people in the Ferguson community, does that make the police response any less impetuous and the outcome any less tragic? In the end, an unarmed, surly, but probably scared, young black man was gunned down by law enforcement. The particulars right now are unknown, there is much speculation, and other people are more qualified to ask questions and find answers. However, the excuses that are being made for why an officer could shoot this young black teenager are ignorant in the least, and then insensitive and even hateful at their worst. 

I have another story, very brief… it is my own. There was a period of time when I was an acrimonious adolescent male. I was sullen and petulant. Sometimes the slightest thing would put me in a rage. I even had a temper so horrible that my grandmother had warned me with a sincere concern that this behavior could lead me to a path ending in jail. Yes, these are the years before my Rastafari trod! I was self-destructive and I engaged in criminal activities that if I had been caught, I may still be locked in a prison cell. I even had encounters with law enforcement. The difference is that I did not come from a broken family, in fact my family cared for me very much. The difference is that I had education and I did not come from a disenfranchised community. The difference is that if I did things to adjust my behavior or appearance, I could avoid having a target on my back. The difference is… I am white. With a roll of fate’s dice, a change of skin color and circumstances, I too could have been Michael Brown, or Trayvon Martin, or Eric Garner, and it goes on and on. I know all too well the benefit of white privilege in certain situations that I may have shared with these men, or that I did indeed share with friends and acquaintances of mine in my younger days. Whether I liked it or not, that’s how it was. Whether we like it or not, acts of prejudice and even discrimination are practiced by officers of the law, because they are human, and we are often bias creatures. 

There are a few things I just want to set straight before continuing. I know that without police protecting citizens there would be anarchy and chaos in our towns and cities. I know that there are some excellent officers who do all the right things for the right reasons and risk their lives with simple acts of heroism every day.  I applaud these men and women, I thank them, and we should be careful not to paint all police officers or the institution with a broad brush. However, not every person who puts on a uniform, wears a badge, and carries a gun is a fair and tolerant person. There are good cops and there are bad cops. Looking beyond the person, there are cops who do a good job and there are cops who do a poor job. This is plain and simple, and irrefutable. Also, on the other end of the spectrum, the burning and looting of Ferguson and the antagonizing of police is disgraceful. Violence and rioting only perpetuate stereotypes, take attention away from the real issue, and mostly hurt people within the same community. Although the outrage is understandable, the actions are senseless, and adverse to any progress. I condemn this behavior as would most rational people of any background.  It should be noted though that most people protesting in Ferguson and other cities around America are not violent and erratic, they are just practicing their civic right to speak against an injustice. 

So why is all of this still happening in this post-racial America? Why does it seem like we have been “blind-sided” by these heavy racial issues when we thought it was “all good”? Why are the 2010’s looking more and more like the 1960’s? Aren’t we past that? Didn’t we have the Civil Rights Movement, and hey, don’t we have a black president? The problem is that we like to pretend that we are color-blind. It is because we are saturated with pop-culture, television shows and McDonald’s commercials where everyone is mingling and doing just fine and we view it as people just being people; people being treated like they should be, as a good person or a bad person. All the prejudices went out the window a generation ago, all the racialism was “so yesterday”. Yet, even if it is subconscious, or parodied, we still have black men portrayed as the archetypes of strong, super athletic, oversexed, crude, beastly negros and black women as loud, angry and bitchy, and both as ignorant, lazy, and generally unintelligent. It’s there; you just have to a look with a third-eye because it may not be as obvious.

As a Rastaman and as a teacher I am one of the first to tell my students and the people I meet that we are all one and that there is only one human race (a beautiful truth). On the other hand, as a Rastaman and a teacher I am also one of the first to tell them that the social and historical construct of “race” is very real, very complicated, and that injustices, intolerance and preconceptions are still alive and well. In fact, the very reason why so much emphasis is put on “black and white” and not the myriad of other ethnicities and cultures in this country is because of our tumultuous past. Ignoring these facts help no one. There is a more insidious racism in existence now. Old-school bigotry is no longer chic or in many cases even tolerated. To borrow a term from radio talk show host Joe Madison, we no longer have “Jim Crow” but his more sophisticated grandson, “James Crow, Esq.” You can’t just go around saying certain things, but you can absolutely feel them, and you can codify them. For example, President Obama has been one of the most castigated presidents in modern history. Some critics call him everything but the N-Word, and yet they would defend themselves by saying they are simply ideologically opposed to him and don’t think that he is a good leader. What other president has had his birth and American citizenship questioned? What other president has had his religious belief scrutinized as if he was a threat to the American public because he could be a menacing anti-American black nationalist? These examples are not coming from real political concerns or disagreements, they come from irrational fear and mindless rhetoric, aka prejudice. They come from that same little dark place where many Americans have tucked away all of their ugly thoughts… in a vacuum of ignorance where the issue of race has not had to be confronted. Until now… 

That dark place is where, I presume, Officer Wilson went to when Michael Brown confronted him in anger. That dark place is where George Zimmerman went when he killed Trayvon Martin. That dark place is where the team of officers went when they choked the life from Eric Garner, that dark place manifests every time someone crosses the street to avoid a dark person on a dark street in the dark night. That dark place could God forbid one day affect my children if they are perceived a certain way, or my wife, or her siblings and cousins. The dark place instills fear in the hearts of men, on both sides of the color-line. People will say it has nothing to do with color, but it has everything to do with color.

Here we have the repercussion of living in our so-called post-racial America. It is a scary place that looks like something from our history books. We need to have a serious talk and educate ourselves, because history repeats itself. We need to learn from another, we need to take a walk in each other’s shoes; we need to recognize that although we are many colors, we are all one people. This dark place of ignorance, confusion, prejudice, brutality and racial profiling is what we Rastafari people call the Babylon System. It is a system that keeps both black and white, all humanity, in bondage. It needs to be confronted, and turning a color-blind eye to it will not help us. Knowledge is power, Truth is the light… shine it in all of those dark, dark places.

I close with this quote from Dr. King which although spoken in the 1960’s still rings true today: "The majority of white Americans consider themselves sincerely committed to justice for the Negro. They believe that American society is essentially hospitable to fair play and to steady growth torward a middle-class Utopia embodying racial harmony. But unfortunately this is a fantasy of self-deception and comfortable vanity. Overwhelmingly America is still struggling with irresolution and contradictions. It has been sincere and even ardent and welcoming some change. But too quickly apathy and disinterest rise to the surface when the next logical steps are to be taken. Laws are passed in a crisis mood after a Birmingham or Selma, but no substantial fervor survives the formal signing of legislation. The recording of the law in itself is treated as the reality of the reform." - Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr

Without Doubt or Apology, 
With Love and Sincerity,
JAHsh

La Dolce Vita

La Dolce Vita

I knew that very night as I first gazed at you
Across the dinner table in flickering candlelight 
Because the vision of you made my heart imbue
With a love true, beating anew upon first sight

That was four years ago, not long, although
If I unravel time to 2,103,840 minutes
And count every second within it, you will know
That every moment we’ve spent together is infinite 

Like when we stood as one before JAH and men
To become wife and husband, or when, patiently
We waited to meet our radiant daughter, and again
We now soon welcome a new member of our family 

We know this has come because we chose each other
We sing a Song of Songs akin to Solomon and Sheba
For we’re lovers, husband, wife, father, and mother
And with you and me it will always be, La Dolce Vita

JMC 
11/19/14
(c) 2014

What A Joy

What A Joy

I vividly remember
The instant you emerged 
From your mother's womb
And into the hospital room
There I stood... in awe
Beholding my newborn
And after receiving you
I introduced you to our world
My daughter, my Makeda
What a joy to see you!

You were once so little
That you were able to fit
Neatly into my hands...
For the rest of my life
I will relive those first days
As I held you against my chest
Amazed that your mother
And I were your parents
My daughter, my Makeda
What a joy to hold you!

It began when your eyes
Met mine for the very first
Time, would soon show us
The dawn of your sweet smile
And after awhile we heard
Your laughter fill our home
As my heart burst full of
Love for you and your mother
My daughter, my Makeda
What a joy to know you 

Each day brought us a new gift
I was surprised when
Slowly, sounds shaped into
Your first words: Mama, Dada
And rhythm allowed you to
Move and dance, standing
Then taking a chance with
Finding your first steps
My daughter, my Makeda
What a joy to watch you!

Now, twelve months with you
Have become a year and
Soon you will walk beside me
Speaking to your Daddy
There's so much to discover
You, me, and your mother
Have a lifetime together, and
You're our love at the center
My daughter, my Makeda
What a joy to teach you!

JMC
5/23/14
(c) 2014

From Four Corners

From Four Corners

He emigrated from the rustic green hills
Of Avellino, Italy, to journey
So far beyond that small universe until
Crossing geographic borders that surely
Could not contain his imagination, and still
Laid a foundation for family, strong and sturdy
He taught me how to wonder; now I know its worth
I'm created from the four corners of my birth

She valued hard work and determination
The keys made for opening an auspicious 
Future, sown by an early education
And I still can taste the Sicilian dishes
Prepared in her kitchen, presenting occasion
For listening to guidance and best wishes
She told me to always strive; now I know its worth
I'm created from the four corners of my birth

She looked through radiant portals of prayer
To help direct her in daily interactions
Finding reasons to live, laugh, love, and to bear
Witness to others with ceaseless compassion
And charity that could not even compare
To her trust in God and saintly satisfaction
She taught me how to have faith; now I know its worth
I'm created from the four corners of my birth

He required no handicap to play his course
In all his endeavors, he remained steadfast
Able to succeed and become a driving force
A man who would not be defined by the past
Using inspiration from the heavenly Source
To produce gladness in his heart, unabashed
He showed me how to endure; now I know its worth
I'm created from the four corners of my birth

JMC
5/21/14
(c) 2014

Forever Loved

Forever Loved

This night she lies here, drawing in gentle breaths
And quietly dreams of another wondrous day gone by
This night, safely tucked against her mother's breast
She abides in the natural abundance of love's supply
Our little daughter, warmly wrapped in your lullaby
Shielded from any shadow that would have her suffer
She knows that you will be there to attend her cry
Between you is a sacred bond, found betwixt no other
You are forever loved, for you are forever her mother

JMC
5/11/14
(c) 2014

Composure

Composure

Like so many leaves scattered by the wind
I had been trying to find my pieces of mind
And reassemble them back to normalcy
Back to some cohesive construction
Of my native soul
How was I to know?

I had believed that I stood as ancient stone
My own ego against the seasons of life
Blowing around me and through me
Shifting the ground beneath my feet
Through the flurry
How was I to see?

I could not know, or see, really only feel
For the conspicuous was concealed 
Until I would yield to this magnificent 
Force that had clothed me in composure
So I could rejoice in
Life’s blessings

JMC
4/14/14
(c) 2014

The Dance Of Life & Death

Time can be such an elusive creature. Just when you think that you finally have a grasp of it, you lose your control as it wriggles free and speeds away from you. It has been over five months now since I've even made an honest attempt at writing and composing my thoughts… something that I used to do so freely and frequently. Life has cemented me in place. I indeed seemed to have lost my grasp of time, but what I gained in return was even greater, time to grow with my family… with my beautiful five month old daughter. The perspective that my time and creativity was lost or wasted is only one side of the story. The truth is that my energy and my focus was elsewhere, it was on something even greater than my love of writing. During these past five months (and beyond) some of the most wonderful, awe inspiring, and emotional events have occurred in my life, good and positive as well as sad and heartbreaking. For certain, my silence was not for a lack of something to write about. In fact, I felt overwhelmed and unable to properly pay tribute to what I was experiencing. Perhaps these moments were too potent and expansive for me to capture at the time, but now looking back I can see a pattern. So, now I break the silence to tell the tale of these voiceless months, the tale of life and death.

Even before I became a father I felt as if I had tuned in to some mystical frequency only afforded to those who truly can grasp the significance of life and the loss of life, a preparation for parenthood. I think that as human beings we have the ability to ponder life, which is remarkable in itself, but for the most part we tune out in order to have a sense of normalcy. So rather than having some uncanny realization, I believe that my sense of experiencing life was heightened. The truth is that the speed of life (and my practice of recording it in writing) had changed even before my baby was born, and occurred during the nine months waiting for her. The feeling of excitement and the sense of urgency was ubiquitous. I worked twice as hard, thought twice as often, and ate twice as much waiting for this due date on the calendar looming ahead in the distance. It was during this time that I first keenly observed the balance of life and death in action. 

Months into our pregnancy (I was guarding the belly, she was pregnant), my wife was able to bring home her mother from Ghana. It was a joyous occasion, this reunion between mother and daughter after many years living apart. It was during this same month, the day when students at the high school where I teach were to go on their Thanksgiving break, when one of the students tragically drowned in the school pool during a gym class. He was a recent immigrant from Ghana, which had a strange antithetical parallel to the new beginning that we would enjoy in our own family. As one mother mourned her son, a daughter celebrated her mother. This congruency between life and death was only just beginning.

I remember that it was about one month later when my wife was about 17 weeks through her pregnancy, and the terrible news of the Sandy Hook Elementary School shooting in Newtown, Connecticut broke. I was thinking of the parents of the young children who had sent them off to another regular day of school just before the holidays, and who had no idea that they would never see their children alive again. It struck a chord deep within my soul as I was anticipating and joyfully expecting my own child in the months to come. It also struck me that this tragic event unfolded only a week before most of Christendom celebrated the birth of Jesus Christ, filled with the symbolism of innocence and unconditional love. The irony was disturbing. I could only think about the loss of life that a mother or father had nurtured and protected, even before that life came into the world, and then to have it whisked away without any warning. My wife and I didn't know the sex of our baby growing in the womb, but we knew that we were parents, and we knew the human worth and the love that we had for our baby even though we could not see her. 

The following month, a former student of mine who had graduated from high school the year before had sadly died from complications after becoming ill. It happened suddenly and unexpectedly. I had seen this student almost every day during her time at the high school. She was my pupil, my teacher’s assistant, a member of my after-school club, she was a young friend. I had proudly watched her graduate the previous summer, and I was able to congratulate her happy family. My wife and I were greeted by her in surprise while shopping in a store only a few weeks before she had shockingly passed on. I can remember how she was so excited to see our baby growing in my wife’s belly. The next time I would see her was when she was lying in a casket at her funeral. It was one of the most heartbreaking things I had ever bore witness to, the death of someone I cared about who had their whole future in front of them. Someone that I had just seen and spoken to could smile and speak no more. The same family members that I had hugged with congratulations less than a year before, I now hugged with condolences. It was difficult to accept. Yet two weeks later one of my good friends had welcomed his baby son into the world. And all throughout this time of waiting and anticipating our own baby child, I clearly saw the dance between life and death, the interplay between its miraculous and joyous beginnings and the tragedy and the suffering of death.

Without a doubt, the greatest moment of my life so far, and the most definitive, was bearing witness to the birth of my baby daughter. Nine long months of waiting… not knowing whether we were having a boy or a girl, we were ready to greet our child into the world. After her safe and smooth delivery, I had the honor of introducing our daughter to her mother and calling her by the name we had chosen for her. The emotions running through me and the significance of the moment could not be captured in words as I cut the cord and held my daughter close to me for the first time. Unconditional love! Anticipating fatherhood had changed my life in many ways, but of course actually becoming a father changed my life in an unfathomable way. I instantly became conscious of the fact that I was now a family man and that my wife and my daughter were the most important people in my life and I would do anything to protect them. My eyes were open to an awareness I had not known until then.

Our daughter was only two months old when my wife and I took her on a 2,000 mile road trip to visit my grandmother, and meet her only great-grandmother for the first time. The summer pilgrimage was a beautiful one. Precious moments were spent together as we traveled and enjoyed our family vacation, but the greatest was when my Grandma was able to hold her great-granddaughter and watch her as she learned how to smile. Four generations were united together, beholding one another in love and wonder. It was a true testament to life. Life that seemed energized with the promise of tomorrow. After spending a couple of weeks with my grandmother and the rest of our family, we made our way back home. My grandmother stood by the door and waved goodbye to us, the same way she had always done since we were children. I left with the confidence that we would see her again the following summer. Life had a response to my presumption. Three weeks later, my grandmother passed. She had been healthy, happy, and buoyant when we saw her. She died in her own home after having a stroke. Though it was sudden and sad, my Grandma had made peace with her mortality. She had outlived her husband, she had seen my brothers and I get married, and she met her first great-grandchild. She had a spirit of love and genuine acceptance of life and the promise of heaven. She was ready to go, she wanted to go, I can only imagine that she felt fulfilled. I traveled back to say goodbye to the last grandparent I had left, and watch my Dad say goodbye to his mother. Once again, I watched the familiar dance between life and death.

As I write, outside my window I can see brown leaves crackling in the chilly wind, falling to the ground… in character of a typical autumn. Just as nature has its seasons, so too does the cycle of life. During this past year I’ve silently watched the dance between life and death unfold in several acts, a performance that was woven through awful tragedy and heartbreak, wondrous joy, and finally acceptance. It opened with conception and with hearing the first beat of my daughter’s heart during the last autumn. It concluded with our family saying goodbye during the euthanasia of our beloved family dog just a couple of weeks ago and hearing his heart beat for the last time. This dance is incomprehensible, it is natural… it is mystic.  It is something witnessed but not truly captured. In the end, I can say that I have seen it, I have studied it, and yet I am none the wiser. However, I do know the steps to the eternal dance, and now I am free to fall back into it, accept it, and find my muse. Life goes on, and I must write on.

JAHsh